French Word-A-Dayhttp://www.french-word-a-day.com/
L'ORIGINAL depuis 2002en-USWed, 20 Sep 2017 12:08:11 +0200http://www.typepad.com/http://www.rssboard.org/rss-specificationhttp://feeds.feedburner.com/~fc/FrenchWord-a-day?bg=99CCFF&amp;fg=444444&amp;anim=0" height="26" width="88" style="border:0" alt=""Subscribe with My Yahoo!Subscribe with NewsGatorSubscribe with My AOLSubscribe with BloglinesSubscribe with NetvibesSubscribe with GoogleSubscribe with PageflakesThis is an XML content feed. It is intended to be viewed in a newsreader or syndicated to another site, subject to copyright and fair use.http://www.french-word-a-day.com/2017/09/family-safe-in-mexico-secret-to-travelingworking-in-france-at-the-age-of-90.htmlFamily Safe in Mexico + Secret to traveling/working in France at the age of 90!http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/FrenchWord-a-day/~3/FwvND8Hrfo4/family-safe-in-mexico-secret-to-travelingworking-in-france-at-the-age-of-90.html
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Our son, Max, and my Mom are safe in Mexico after yesterday's earthquake. We are saddened by the news and our thoughts and prayers go out to Mexico. Before hearing the news, I had planned on sharing the story of my 90-year-old reader from Florida who is traveling solo in France...looking to start a new chapter in Antibes, considering a job, and maybe a French girlfriend. Inspiring story below.

The last time we saw Lou was at our 2010 harvest in Sainte Cécile. He was 80-something at the time. Well, on September 30th Lou will turn 90 -- while on vacation in France.

...Unless Lou's vacation turns into a long-term commitment! "Do you think I could find a job?" Lou asks over lunch at our neighborhood restaurant here in La Ciotat. Jean-Marc, who is sharing the booth, looks doubtful (owing to French bureaucracy or Lou's age?)....

In order to pursue his dream of moving from Florida to Antibes, Lou's going to need an income. "You may be able to work under the table," I say in a kidding way (I am only kidding if the French authorities are reading....). I look across the table to the man with bright blue eyes, rock star long locks (in white), and a slight hunch (I hadn't noticed when he arrived, earlier, after a two-hour grape harvest with Jean-Marc at a friend's vineyard). "I lost a few inches of height after a car accident in my 50s!"

Lou pokes around at his plate of fish (he doesn't eat meat), apologizing for not being able to eat it all. Next, he tells us he walked everywhere, last week, in Paris. "Had no problems with the Métro. So easy to get around... I just needed more time to see everything. I want to see everything!"

This, dear reader, is one secret of Lou's good health and longevity. "Yes, it is my outlook. I want to be around to see what happens next!" Lou cited everything from Elon Musk to, well, grapes! He has been following our chapter by chapter story since our kids were very little. And when Jackie designed her first raincoat, Lou wrote in to the comments, sharing he once worked for London Fog. Every one-line blog comment before and since has been a great source of encouragement to me and my family. Lou is, as you'll soon learn, a born coach (his mentor was a famous basketball coach named John Wooden. Read about him).

Lou's had several jobs since high school (one of his life regrets is not graduating and furthering his education. His other regret is not coming to France at the age of 50, and following all of his dreams back then. I look over at my husand, who turned 50 this year and left his career in wine farming...to follow his own heart).

To see Lou and Jean-Marc sitting side by side across from me in the booth is chanceux to say the least. Two amazing men, 40 years apart....

There is so much I want to tell you about both men, especially Lou--on whom I've scribbled a page of notes, everything from "golf passionate" to his favorite BedyCasa (rooms for rent in France) to "Press on!" (Lou's advice when aches and pains set in "Just press on. There is so much to see and do. What good is it to complain or pay to pay attention to pain?").

Yes, there is so much I want to tell you about Lou, but, like Lou, I'm beginning to feel an itch to get outside and experience life, to spend less time behind a computer screen (my husband signed off Facebook. I wonder if I will do the same?). Lou understands that! He's torn between writing his own story and living his story. How I can relate!

"I can write it all down later," Lou decides. I want to live past a hundred. And why not to 130?" Lou smiles, and my eyes jump back and forth between my husband's face and the soon-to-be 90-year-old's. Both men have wrinkles. And both have grins. But for a 40-year lapse, they are just a couple of extraordinary guys.

So it's no use selling Lou on blogging as a way to earn some cash to pay for his living expenses. "Well, maybe I can find a French girlfriend," Lou lights up.

That's good, but I have another idea: knowing that Lou's dream has always been to be a coach. "why don't you be a coach in the modern sense of the word? You could coach people on lifestyle issues. You are such an encourager, Lou, and a real inspiration! You emanate it!"

Before I say goodbye to Lou, I want to know more about his good health. "I know you don't eat meat but can share more about your diet?"

"At eighty, I began to reduce sugar and salt...there is already so much of it in everything we eat! And I love yogurt. Eat a lot of it to keep my bones strong for walking!"

"What about stress," I ask Lou, who is leaning back so casually on my couch.

"I don't know stress!!"

"Well, everyone has stress," I argue. "What if you are about to miss a plane. And you are running...running for the gate?"

Hello, I never miss your blogs and I will never forget the 2 days i spent clipping your grapes and our conversation under the mulberry tree and our pic that you posted on your blog and the great pics i have of all the folks that helped on that harvest and the reason i came to your farm, after meeting Chief grape at a wine tasting here in Tampa, set up by our mutual friend Charles. I regret not being able to find the farm last year but as Jean-Marc, explained on my call, that it had not been a good day, something to do with equipment. I am blessed to have met you all, will be 85 this Sept. but good memories never die, much good luck to you and yours. Lou

As Lou says, "Good memories NEVER die." Let's all go out and make some good memories today! Here is one from our daughter's 20th birthday, Monday. I asked her to imagine herself, 70 years from now, traveling solo to one of her favorite destinations. Whether you have 5, 10, or 70 years ahead of you -- so much to do and see. En avant, dear reader, en avant!

]]>Kristin EspinasseWed, 20 Sep 2017 12:08:11 +0200http://french-word-a-day.typepad.com/files/en-avant.m4ahttp://www.french-word-a-day.com/2017/09/family-safe-in-mexico-secret-to-travelingworking-in-france-at-the-age-of-90.htmlhttp://feeds.feedblitz.com/-/460132516/_/french-word-a-day.m4ahttp://www.french-word-a-day.com/2017/09/brugnon-crumble-aux-brugnons.htmlBrugnon...or nectarine? (A two word hint: sticky pits) + bee or wasp?http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/FrenchWord-a-day/~3/LDb_4Lqft0E/brugnon-crumble-aux-brugnons.html
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The word brugnon is used when the pit sticks to the flesh, whereas the word nectarine is used when the pit is free. In English and in other languages, only the word nectarine exists, whether or not the pit sticks. Listen to the sentence in French, below. (photo: A brugnonier, or nectarine tree, at our former vineyard.)

I am getting ready to make a third crumble this week. It's been a lively one, this past semaine, with old friends, new departures (I've begun riding my bike again!), and a very itchy and swollen pied gauche. I was stung by something on Tuesday, while heading out on foot to the farmers market....

I had just put on my trusty yellow sneakers (a hand-me-down from Jackie, the baskets are really orange and only appear to be as yellow as my kitchen) when I felt the most painful piqûre on the top of my foot. MY first thought after what in the heck, was I hope this is one of those good stings!

I searched the ground for a flailing bee (and the top of my foot for a stinger), but saw nothing.... and thought nothing more about it until the coming restless night. My foot itched terribly. The next morning it began to swell and swell.

Was a toothy araignée lurking inside my trusty (can they still be trusted?) tennis shoes? But araignées don't sting do they? The shoot of pain I felt was definitely a sting and not a bite!

"Keep your eye on it and if it doesn't get better get to the doctor," my friend urged. Tess rummaged through her purse and, tada!, produced a tube of Anthisan... I had never heard of it before. "You can only get it in England," Tess said, and her singsong response made me wonder what other remedies the English kept in their medicine cabinets?

"I'll squeeze some on a plate," I said, but Tess insisted I keep the entire tube. I'm glad she did because I had to keep applying it throughout the day and night.

The swelling in my foot had gone down and I carefully tied the tongue of my baskets back, with the help of my shoe laces. My swollen ankle had more room this way and the bite marks could better heal. A very tight bubble began to rise above those bites (or stings?). Running my finger across the "cloque" (as Jean-Marc called it) I wondered whether to listen to my husband (and pierce it) or leave my body's defense system to finish the job it had begun.

There on my bicycle for the first time in years, I followed my husband who lead us along the boardwalk, down a bumpy wooden ramp to the sea and back up to the old port. We parked our vélos on one of the docks.... to check out a little boat... and then continued into the old town to buy some needed liquide vaisselle and some amandes effilées for the crumble I wanted to make.

As I rode my bike I noticed how an already colorful La Ciotat was even more vibrant. The rush of happiness could only be explained by one of three things: getting back on that bike, time with friends, or that high voltage bee or wasp sting (I like to think that intense shot of pain amounted to something. But if it didn't, don't burst my bubble! (as I said to Nurse Jean-Marc who I'm sure was just dying to stick a pin in me).

Put the cut up nectarines into a baking dish and squeeze some lemon over the fruit. Put one cup of flour into a medium-size bowl and add the cut up pieces of butter. With your fingers press the butter and flour together continually until you get a breadcrumb consistency. Add the sugar, sliced almonds, cinnamon and oats. Mix together before spreading the topping over the fruit.

]]>Kristin EspinasseSat, 16 Sep 2017 20:05:09 +0200http://french-word-a-day.typepad.com/files/brugnon-2.m4ahttp://www.french-word-a-day.com/2017/09/brugnon-crumble-aux-brugnons.htmlhttp://feeds.feedblitz.com/-/459401482/_/french-word-a-day.m4ahttp://www.french-word-a-day.com/2017/09/canne-%C3%A0-p%C3%AAche.htmlAnother way to get French strangers to talk to you + Canne à pêche http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/FrenchWord-a-day/~3/tJZsI5olYBM/canne-%C3%A0-p%C3%AAche.html
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Our retro yellow kitchen here in lively La Ciotat makes a catching backdrop for JM's catch: a Mediterranean sar ("saar" in English. Not that that's any help for most of us trying to figure out just what kind of poisson this is!). They do, however serve sar in many seaside restaurants here along the south coast.

Non, after ending his career as a paysan, Jean-Marc is not retiring! It only looks as though he is! Especially in the photo near the end of this missive. My husband will continue his work in wine. Instead of farming, he'll stick to the wine business (and blending...), discovering good local wines and connecting French wine growers with US importers. Jean-Marc would also like to source grapes and continue making wine, a passion that has not left him....

Meantime the new ciotadin (resident of La Ciotat) is discovering other pleasures--like la pêche! Yesterday our bungalow, our patio, and a part of our yard was tangled in meters upon meters of fishing line as Jean-Marc tried to assemble his new canne à pêche.

Ah, this'll be a good activity for him, I thought, teaching him patience. (But when he called me over to help, I got sucked into the @#&!! test of patience, too!)

Strangely, no other fishermen were present. Perhaps the day after a storm is not the time to fish? I'd heard of troubled waters.... Jean-Marc assured me people were fishing--he could see them farther down the coast. Donc tout était bon--and he had digue, or seawall, all to himself!

But where were all the fish? When the store-bought appâts (vers américans, or American worms) did not attract any fish, he remembered the humble, trusty, arapède. There were dozens of the little creatures (or "Chinese hats", for they resemble just that). Plucking up a few limpets, Jean-Marc then removed the snails from the shell and voilà--he immediately caught a fish!

Finally he could answer a pertinent question posed by the occasional passant, who slowed each time to inquire, Ça mord? Anything biting?

Oui! ça mord! Yes, they're biting!

And, dear reader, I think we can say as well that Jean-Marc has been bitten by the joy of fishin'.

Who could not be happy in a sunshine yellow kitchen (from the 50s or 70s, we do not know)? It's not the most comfortable kitchen, but it has a nice look, doesn't it? A few readers had a solution for the low counter top: Sit down when you chop! So I did, and discovered that by opening one of the cupboards, I have a place to put my legs :-)

Thanks to Nick and Jill Cook for sending this picture of The Connexion interview. Thank you, Jessica Knipe for the interview. You can read part of it here (if I get a copy of the paper, I will share it).

The nice thing about fishing at this digue its proximity to the ice cream truck. Jean-Marc ordered caramel sale and I got the menthe chocolat.

Woke up this morning to a heartwarming story in the online journal France Bleu. A baby dolphin was helped back out to sea after getting lost in the the old port of La Ciotat (dolphins in La Ciotat!!). What a sight he was among the colorful wooden fishing boats, or "les pointus" (sorry the little dauphin is not seen here, in this file photo. But you can see the cutie pie rascal here, along with all those magnificent and historic boats). Read an excerpt from the article, below, and listen to Jean-Marc's recording. The English translation follows.

THIS WEEKEND'S STAR IN LA CIOTAT
For two days, this weekend, a little cetacean less than a year old, alone, weak, and disoriented invited itself into the port of La Ciotat. Officials from the Parc National ... the research group for Mediterranean cetaceans, tried everything to redirect it toward the open sea, but the dolphin, a blue and white type, preferred the calm waters of the port. It was the star of the weekend and a real attraction at the port, howerver, it gave them the run around--those agents of the Parc National des Calanques

* * *

Don't forget to make a tomato tart while the tomates are in season. This time, yellow tomatoes made a nice change! Here is the easy recipe.

"Hors service." Out of order...but soon to be back in service thanks to those who've contributed to a most thoughtful housewarming gift. More info, below.

Did you enjoy today's edition? Could you hear the sound file? Thanks for your feedback. And for those who missed it, Margaret, from Yorkshire, had a very thoughtful idea regarding a housewarming gift, or cadeau de pendaison de crémaillère - info at the end of this post.

"The fountain will remind you of the love and support of all your readers and friends on those days when you feel homesick or lonely. All best wishes for an abundant and joyful life in your new home!" - Deborah, in Zurich

A native of Arizona I never imaged I'd one day live at the beach. Walking down the promenade, I saw this beautiful scene. Farther down, there was a shop selling bathing suits, beach towels, and giant rafts--one of them, bright green in the shape of a saguaro cactus, caught my eye.... I had an urge to drag it home and lie on it in the garden, on the gravel beneath the two towering palm trees. Looking up to the sky, through the palm fronds to the blazing sun, it might be Phoenix.

I was going to give you a rundown on all the trees in our garden here in the French town we ended up in, until I considered how ennuyeux the topic would be to some! So I'll share, instead, a popular French phrase I overheard last night (and take just a moment to say that in addition to two palm trees, a magnificent faux-poivrier, a cypress, a cedar and an olive tree--we learned we also have a laurier sauce (bay leaf tree) and a néflier which produces a fruit that ressembles an apricot--if only it tasted as good (I plan to acquire the taste asap). It was exciting to discover these trees which produce edible crops.

The wooden shed had to come down. It was on its last leg! Today's Mistral might've done the work for us...I wonder, now, if it will blow down our house? Meantime, not a pesky mosquito in sight! They must dread the wind as much as we do.

Jean-Marc wasn't that hungry so he only ordered an entrée: nems aux crevettes, or shrimp egg rolls. When you order egg rolls at an Asian restaurant in France, they come with large lettuce leaves in which to roll them, and mint. A delicious, further crispy detail! After your nems are rolled up in the lettuce and mint, you dunk them in the rice vinegar-based sauce pour nems, all the while keeping one eye on the remaining three nems or else your table-mate will get your share!

I wasn't any hungrier than Jean-Marc - especially after the fried nems, but a good customer orders more than an appetizer, n'est-ce pas? So I asked for le canard "aux amandes". It is not on the menu but the waiter, who so far did not smile, didn't growl either.

Regarding the waiter sans sourire, I wondered if it was something we said--or maybe the way we looked? After all, we humans are mirrors reflecting the mood of the other. Did we look mad? Serious? Impatient? Stuffy or snobby?

When the waiter returned I thanked him profusely with a tooth-full smile. Jean-Marc, who was not aware of my inner turmoil, bluntly asked for, "encore de la laitue, s'il vous plaît. More lettuce, please."

I quickly let it go, but could not help but notice when the same waiter smiled warmly and toothfully at the other clients. And then it dawned on me, we were new. Les inconnus. Unknown. As the young man served the other tables, I pictured us at one of them, on the receiving end of a warm sunny smile. One day in the future we would be! Such a familiar greeting would extend out from the Vietnamese restaurant--throughout our neighborhood. A nod by this neighbor, a comment ça va by that one. In the meantime, we would rely on those citizens who make no distinction between locals and strangers (like the restaurant owner, who was bubbly with everyone he encountered, or the woman I walked past this morning, on the way to the market. Her eye contact, nod, and smile was enlivening.)

After the nems my canard aux amandes arrived. I noticed Jean-Marc perked right up. "Je partage!" I'll share, I said. My husband accepted, citing a popular French phrase, one I will leave you with:

L'appétit vient en mangeant. Appetite comes with eating.

(This, by the way, would also explain how two not-so-hungry strangers ended up at the ice cream truck across the street, after eating all those egg rolls and some duck :-)

Speaking of trees in our La Ciotat garden, this one is endearing.... On the eve of our move from the vineyard, my neighbor Annie stopped by. We were having iced tea together when Jean-Marc returned from the back parcel, exhausted from having uprooted a lemon tree, a mandarin and a kumquat. "What about the mulberry tree?" Annie said, unknowingly voicing a wish of mine. I didn't dare ask my husband to pull that up. Next thing you know Jean-Marc, Annie, and I were heaving and straining to get that weeping tree out of the ground (the future owners are putting a pool in that area and offered to let us have the trees). Struggling to get that tree out of the ground, Annie fell on me once and all three of us nearly ended up in a pile (the tree on top) after the mulberry let go of its grip on the land. I can certainly relate to its attachment! So here we are now, in a new little garden--all together now (except Annie. But she promises to visit soon).

Read about Margaret's idea for a cadeau de pendaison de crémaillère or housewarming gift.

HOUSEWARMING IDEA BY MARGARETBeneath the willowy peppercorn tree there's a tiled bassin that was in use once upon a time. We would like to get it operating again--adding a fountain feature and some fish (my father suggested koi...). Margaret, who reads this journal from her home in Yorkshire, wrote in suggesting readers pitch in to help bring this petit bassin back to life. Margaret writes:

Meanwhile, I'd been wracking my brains for a house-warming gift for you, one everyone can share if they want and with no strings. I'd like to start a fund to help restore the pond and the water feature. If for any reason that proves impractical, then you can use it to install any other calming and wished for feature in the garden.

]]>Kristin EspinasseSat, 02 Sep 2017 12:42:59 +0200http://french-word-a-day.typepad.com/files/mon-enregistrement-90.m4ahttp://www.french-word-a-day.com/2017/09/lapp%C3%A9tit-vient-en-mangeant.htmlhttp://feeds.feedblitz.com/-/456075739/_/french-word-a-day.m4ahttp://www.french-word-a-day.com/2017/08/peeping-toms-street-side-meltdowns-and-this-new-city-life-in-la-ciotat.htmlPeeping Toms, street-side meltdowns, and this new city life in La Ciotathttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/FrenchWord-a-day/~3/aG62KoV72hg/peeping-toms-street-side-meltdowns-and-this-new-city-life-in-la-ciotat.html
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So far it's been nine days that we've lived in La Ciotat. The residents of La Ciotat are called lesCiotadins or Ciotadines. Listen to the previous sentence in French via the link below.

With a new life comes new habits. Instead of typing this post indoors on a desktop computer in a quiet room, I am borrowing Jean-Marc's laptop which I've set up outside on our front terrasse. This change came when my old ordinateur slowed to a turtle's pace last week. Bear with me as we adapt to more change--and many new surprises!

Seated outside with an awkward keyboard and our golden retriever, Smokey, something else is smoking: a spiral mosquito disk which I have placed on the ground as a further deterrent (after covering my arms and legs with long sleeves and pants and lots and lots of oily lemon balm). We have been battling mosquitoes since moving in last Monday. We didn't notice the blood-suckers last March, when we signed the promise to buy this bungalow. And though we have no regrets for this property, we do regret our unwanted roommates and are arming ourselves and our home with a barrage of defense: plug-in units of mosquito repellent, essential oil candles, essence of eucalyptus...and we are searching for any sources of standing water (such as the potholders, or saucers, beneath our plants or the puddle that forms beside the garden hose or the leak beneath the kitchen sink. I hadn't thought of Smokey's water bowl. Does that count as a humid, welcoming environment for les moustiques?).

Biting pests are enough to put anybody on edge, so to help us relax and settle in we invited our first guests: our next neighbors to the west and to the north (we live on a corner). Neither of our voisins knew each other, though their families had owned these homes since the 50s. Slathered in lemon oil we toasted, raising our glass, as well, to the previous owner, Deborah, who joined us on that fourth night.

Two days later while sitting on the front porch I noticed a man peering into our front gate. On closer look it was one of our guests from our meet-the-neighbors night. I waved my hands and hurried over and opened the gate. Our neighbor to the west was a little embarrassed, explaining he was just out on his morning walk when he glanced over our gate. Little did he know my thoughts: nosy neighbors are a good thing! Here's to your morning walk and don't hesitate to check on us whenever you are out and about!

But the next day when I noticed an ominous figure staring past our front gate it wasn't our neighbor! As I looked up, the man startled and darted off....

A lot of people walk past our front gate on the way to the beach. And as they walk back to their cars we overhear a lot of meltdowns--young children who are not happy to return home and they are keen to let the world know of the injustice by their high-pitched screams which rattle my bedroom window behind which I am trying to nap. With so many meltdowns each day, during tourist season, we are putting double-vitrage windows high on our list of priorities.

Other than the tantrums, or crises de colère, we hear a lot from our quiet perch on the other side of the leafy fence. Because the tourists can't see us, they freely express themselves, with the help of a lot of cussing, fighting, and otherwise private conversations. My daughter Jackie and I shared notes as well as other observations about the neighborhood: You know that now that we live in the city we could be cambrioler...

Burgled? The thought brings me back to the mystery man at our front gate. Was he casing our property? Or was he peeping? Jean-Marc had another, more reassuring scenario:

He is probably another curious neighbor. In that case, take a good look at us! And if you see somebody else here please call les flics! We'll look out for you, too. In France, that's called Voisins Vigilants! Now if only someone could look out for these blood-suckers, the abominable moustiques!

Thank you for the suggestions you have sent in, regarding what to name our home in La Ciotat. So far we have not picked a name. Jean-Marc likes Dolce Vita and, lately, Shalom, which means "peace" and is used as a Jewish greeting and farewell (Merriam-Webster). He picked up the term in this helpful devotional, which we began reading every morning during last year's storm.

BON COURAGE HOUSTONThis brings us to our readers and friends in Houston. Our thoughts are with you. I can't find the hearts on this foreign keyboard, so we are releasing a virtual sky full of coeurs from here in La Ciotat. Bon courage, Houston.

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Our bright yellow 1960s kitchen. The counter-top reaches the top of my leg. It will take some getting-used-to, as will this new life in La Ciotat. So far so good!

We have landed! Jean-Marc drove us, just ahead of the moving truck, to La Ciotat early Monday morning. I had our coffee maker in my lap and Smokey in the back seat, surrounded by other essentials.

Our new (1960s) home is located on a busy corner, with one-way streets on both sides and parking meters up and down the road. The challenge would be for our moving truck to make the angle into our driveway. Deborah, who formerly lived here, agreed to block at least one of the public parking spaces beside our gate and, as luck would have it, another space opened up the moment we drove up!

I hurried out of the car to greet Deborah with a kiss of both cheeks and ask for her help with an important introduction (dubbed by Jean-Marc "When Smokey Met Lili"). You may recall our new home comes with an old cat. I attached Smokey to the front porch railing and sat on the steps beside our 8-year-old golden retriever, explaining to him the situation: "On est chez Lili. Elle habite ici..et nous aussi! Elle est gentille." As he sniffed and strained against his least, I repeated,"Doucement, Smokey...."

Releasing Smokey, we watched as he wandered around what would now be his domain too. Lili kept her distance, retreating to her post at the front gate where, camouflaged by the leafy laurier she watches the world go by. Later that day when my Dad called, I was chatting away when I glanced out the window and saw the two would-be adversaires cautiously approaching one another. Only, when I opened the door for a closer look, they quickly retreated.

By last night, day two, Lili wandered into the house--right past a sleeping Smokey. She was surely looking for her cat food, which was displaced (to the window sill) after Smokey found it in the kitchen. That's no way to score brownie points with Lili!

After the animals settled so did our boxes and furniture, which fits nicely into this 140-meter-square home sweet home, on this 995 square meter lot. With less land to worry about we began our new life...by heading to the beach.

The restaurant at Mugel beach, and that loup fish from Tamaris (near Toulon) with remoulade sauce. The people at the next table were from Italy. I had such an urge to ask them their thoughts about the caponata.

FARNIENTE--from the Italian fare (to do) and niente (nothing). Farniente is a new word for me, and an old one when it comes to naming a home (Jean-Marc tells me many French people name their homes farniente). Help us find a name for our new place, submit your suggestion in the comments at the end of this post

I've just cleared off my desk to type this last dispatch from our former home sweet home. It is quiet here now, only a very dusty house and a few towers of boxes after Jean-Marc's family left, last night.

What a help they were! Jean-Marc's brother, Jacques, arrived, along with Mariem, his "coeur" (as he's called her for years) and her 11-year-old son Farès, who is a smiling participant in anything--even moving! My belle-soeur Cécile joined us, too, for phase one of our déménagement.

Forming a human chain, our family transferred the wood pile to the rented camion and emptied the entire contents of Jean-Marc's wine cellar bottle by bottle, case by case! As an array of dusty bouteilles traveled out of the caveUP the path in front of our porch, our golden retriever was reminded to sors de là--or move it!

If Smokey is a little displaced so is his unbeknownst-to-him adversaire, Lili--the 12-year-old long-haired chat we've inherited along with our new (1960-built) house in La Ciotat. Though Lili has been entrusted to the neighbors, we all hope she'll just stay put. The question is, after 10 moves, will we stay put too?

SUBMIT A NAME FOR OUR NEW HOMETalk to you again soon--from La Ciotat. Meantime, help me answer Cécile's, question: "What will you name your new house?" Submit a name in the comments box below (link at the end of this post).

Batch after batch of oven-roasted ratatouille has sustained us during this move! My favorite way to make it is to chop up all the vegetables listed below and toss them with olive oil, salt and pepper (we ran out of herbs de Provence and won't buy more until we move!). Put the coated veggies on a tray or two and into the oven they go (at 180c or 350F, for one hour). Delicious with a roast chicken, all that leftover sanglier, or tossed in pasta, to name a few incarnations of this wonderful dish.

Tip: The more colorful the better. When our curb-side veggie stand had yellow tomatoes, I grabbed them. Ditto for the white eggplant and also the bright purple eggplant. Carrots are not part of the traditional ratatouille, but the color and taste sweetens everything! Do yourself a favor and make this easy dish whenever the ingredients are in season. It is so handy to have on hand, just like its Sicilian counterpart.